


missing puzzle piece

by creambee



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Radio, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, jeno in a dress, popular class president jaemin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24974542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creambee/pseuds/creambee
Summary: " 'Hello, it's been too long, isn't it?'The small piece that I put in my pocket and carry around everywherePlease be with me so it can be fuller and prettierAfter I met you,I'm able to draw a bigger picture...."-- NCT Dream, "Puzzle Piece"
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee Jeno/Mark Lee, Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. lost in the thrill of it all

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is entirely fictional and shouldn't alter your perception of the dreamies :)))
> 
> also to clear up any confusion, in the beginning Jeno is in middle school, there's a flashback to fifth grade, and the chapter ends with Jeno at his first day of high school, which is ninth grade in the us! so he would be about 14 years old. young, I know, but it gets better :)
> 
> (trigger warning for negative body image at the beginning)

Jeno stared at himself a lot for someone so self-conscious. Wherever there was a mirror, whether it was the FaceTime camera on his laptop or the bathroom mirror in the middle of the night in his boxers, Jeno would habitually drag his eyes over to his reflection. And there he would do all sorts of things--frown, throw up a peace sign, pout--as if he was at a photoshoot and not making weird faces in the mirror alone. He would angle his face from side to side, examining the moles dotting his cheekbone and the soft jawline. One of Jeno’s favorite exercises was to smile broadly, at first faking it and then genuinely and see if anyone would be able to tell the difference. After this particular exercise, though, he always felt bad. The smile would drop from his face as if he suddenly became aware of what he was doing and felt ashamed of himself. He would examine the forlorn face in the mirror one last time before shutting off the light. That was the only place Jeno could stand to look at himself: away from the criticism and prying eyes of others.

Jeno was ‘overweight but not obese’, according to the grim words of his doctor. To his mother, however, he might as well have been Godzilla, for how viciously she nagged him about his weight. And when Jeno broke down once and pleaded with her in a cracked voice not to tear away at her own child’s self-esteem, she resorted to sarcastic remarks and teasing, which was even worse in a way. He’d just begun to grow into his body, to like the fact that he was big, but it all came crashing down at the slightest insult from his mother. He clutched onto scraps from other people, strangers, even, who had complimented his eyes, smile, his clothes, probably not knowing that Jeno would hold onto the kind words and remember them often to force himself to stay afloat by lying to himself in order to maintain an outward semblance of normalcy.

It wasn’t that Jeno hated himself, no. Jeno didn’t hate anything or anyone. He just didn’t like himself. For other people, his heart was big and open. He stanned so many K-pop groups and still remembered who had a cute habit of breathing into his mic and who didn’t feel comfortable accepting letters from fans. Jeno was known to be the thoughtful, caring one in his friend group at middle school who was so sensitive to other people’s problems it was almost as if he’d experienced it himself. For this reason, his friends always came to him to empty themselves out to him and feel comforted, and he was just that for them. Maybe if they’d stop to think that their self-assured image of Jeno didn’t really match his soft, sweet personality he would be content. He wouldn’t be kept up at night with thoughts of different things he could’ve done to stay friends with Lee Jaemin in fifth grade.

Nothing dramatic had happened between them. Sometimes Jeno found himself wishing there had, because it would’ve given him some sort of closure. Instead, Jeno found himself yearning for the bond he and Na Jaemin shared all those years ago--when they had no one else but each other in their fifth grade class. Despite the questionable dynamics of their friendship, which involved Jaemin clowning Jeno for being clumsy and naive, then begrudgingly asking him to come over to his house and clinging to Jeno on field trips, that one year with Jaemin was unlike anything Jeno had ever experienced in his life. With Jaemin, hours of biting back-and-forth banter and endless flipping on the playground bars passed like seconds, and Jeno stopped regretting his humdrum childhood after that, because he’d lived it with Jaemin that year. But, like all good things in Jeno’s life, the good times were short-lived. Jaemin had always said he was naive, but Jeno never expected his best friend would drift away from him when he moved schools at the end of fifth grade. Little sixth-grade Jeno felt bitter towards Jaemin’s lack of interest in him anymore, and he often wondered why he’d been nice enough to help Jaemin pick out another boy from their grade, Zhong Chenle, to keep him company in sixth grade since Jeno was leaving. As the years flew by and Jeno found Renjun and Haechan by his side, he realized that he seemed just as aloof to Jaemin, because separated, he and Jaemin were too different. At least, when they were together, they were able to overcome their differences, but that hadn’t been enough to keep them together over the years. 

Jaemin had only visited once after the move, in sixth grade, and even though he had been absent from his life for only a few months, Na Jaemin wasn’t like he remembered. As Jeno noticed with a twinge of sadness, Jaemin stood stiffly in the living room they’d gamed and eaten ice cream in so many times, remaining close to his mother, who seemed to be getting along fine with Jeno’s mother. The whole time they played, Jeno acutely sensed Jaemin’s discomfort and felt helpless. Do something, Jaemin Na, he wanted to say. Don’t you want to be friends anymore? As they bid farewell on Jeno’s doorstep, Jeno’s mom said, “You should come over again soon, Jaeminnie, okay?” Jaemin smiled politely and nodded his head, but Jeno knew he wasn’t coming back and he hated him at that moment. Hated him for not trying, and leaving Jeno with his fears confirmed. Jaemin didn’t want to be friends with him anymore. Jeno had always felt inferior to Jaemin and he didn’t want to feel weak for anyone, so he shelved his feelings of inadequacy, his confusion at what made their friendship go south, and threw himself into making friends at his new school. And for a long time Jeno felt like he belonged somewhere again.

A few weeks into his new middle school, the boy who changed next to him in the locker room, a petite boy named Haechan who always had dirt smudged somewhere on his face, revealed his lime-green boxers as he tugged on his soccer shorts. Renjun, Haechan’s friend who was a locker down, burst out laughing and pointed at Haechan. “I can’t believe you wore those,” he said, looking around. “What if someone sees you?” Renjun’s eyes met Jeno’s, and Jeno couldn’t help but grin. Renjun laughed. “You’re shameless, Lee Haechan,” he said.

Haechan’s head swiveled around and his eyes bore into Jeno’s. Jeno stopped smiling. “What are you looking at?” Haechan threatened, eyes bulging and nostrils flared. Jeno turned around and stuffed his backpack into his locker. “Nothing,” he muttered, a hint of a smile on his lips. Later on, in PE, Jeno saw Haechan goofing around with Renjun and an older student from the other class. As he executed a shaky cartwheel on the grass, his shorts rode down and exposed a strip of the offensive lime crime. Jeno wished he could unsee it. So did the coach, apparently, as her loud voice carried over the turf: “Lee Haechan, no one should have to see that fluorescent abomination!” Haechan’s whole face and neck flushed, and he collapsed on the grass, seething. Renjun was laughing so hard that he was pulling out fistfuls of grass. Jeno smiled at Renjun, who clutched his heaving stomach and wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, that was beautiful,” he sighed. Haechan smacked him upside the head.

The next day at the lockers, Jeno hesitated before teasing Haechan, “No neon underwear today?” Haechan scowled before turning to Jeno, smiling sweetly.  
“I’ll wear it again tomorrow just for you,” he said in a sickening voice.  
“But tomorrow’s Saturday,” said Jeno.  
Haechan rolled his eyes. “Semantics,” he huffed.  
“You could show up to his house in nothing but the green underwear,” Renjun giggled, and Haechan’s hand came down on his head. Jeno snickered and shut his locker, joining Renjun and Haechan out to the soccer field. From then on, he would walk with them during PE. The neon underwear became their inside joke and they eventually started hanging out at Jeno’s house--with Haechan fully clothed, of course.

Their bond, unsurprisingly, lasted longer than sixth grade PE and went into freshman year of high school. Still, no amount of new friends could’ve prepared Jeno for the sight of Jaemin sitting at a cafeteria table with a group of twenty other people laughing uproariously. How was he this popular on the first day of high school. Freshmen were treated like the scum of the earth, but there he was, chatting it up with seniors. It wasn’t that Jeno was surprised to see him--there was only one high school in the city so he knew there had to be a reunion at some point. He just hadn’t expected Jaemin to look so good. The blond, floofy hair on his head gave him another appeal completely--the thin silver chain that sparkled at his throat, stunning. His shoulders had filled out, and veins ran up and down his tanned forearms. He’d switched out the multicolored polos and khakis from elementary school for a soft baby blue graphic tee and cream-colored pants, and….were those custom Jordans? Jeno had always known Jaemin’s family was old money, but he still looked down at his own thrifted outfit and bitten, colorfully painted nails self-consciously. When he looked back up, his heart jumped. Na Jaemin was looking back at him. Something flickered in his eyes and his gaze slid up and down Jeno, mouth slightly open wordlessly. As for Jeno, he felt a bit strange. He’d never had this emotion before. A little embarrassed, but also curious. And nervous about what Jaemin saw when he looked at him. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel bitter or sad when seeing him, which brought up an interesting question. When had Jeno forgiven Jaemin, and himself? Instead, Jeno felt a surge of confidence with Na Jaemin looking at him like that. He made him feel brand-new. Then his two devilish friends came out of nowhere and threw their arms around his neck.  
“Jenooo,” Haechan whined. “What were you looking at? Hurry up!”  
“Your neon boxers,” Renjun shot back.  
Jeno shook all thoughts of his weird encounter with Na Jaemin out of his head and smiled innocently. “I’m not going to tell you,” he responded, much to the chagrin of the nosy Haechan.


	2. schadenfreude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna be writing a lot of school scenes and I might romanticize things a bit because I don’t even know if I’m going back to school senior year, so I might as well live out the teenage dream through nomin ://

Jeno had far too many classes with Na Jaemin. It was a smaller high school, and you were lucky to have less than three classes with the same person. Taking this into consideration, Jeno was lucky. He didn’t feel lucky though. He had precisely two classes with Na Jaemin: French, first thing in the morning, and English at the end of the day. Thankfully, he had Renjun and Haechan to goof off with in French, along with a plethora of like-minded people. Jaemin stuck out like a sore thumb in their French class, which mostly had indie kids like Jeno and theater students. Jeno wasn’t sure why Jaemin was there. He seemed more like a Spanish student—popular and ambitious. People only took French for two reasons—because they wanted to ‘talk sexy’ like Timothee Chalamet, or they hated the idea of taking Spanish like the majority of students. Jaemin didn’t seem to fit into any of these, but a French-speaking Na Jaemin had its appeal, Jeno admitted. Regrettably, as Jeno found out on the first day of school, Jaemin was terrible at French. He was astronomically bad at it. Jeno didn’t mean to pry, but it proved difficult when the class was so tiny and everyone knew everyone else’s business—plus, he was curious.

After a morning of watching Jaemin struggling to pronounce basic French phrases in amusement, Jeno gathered up his books and left the classroom with Renjun and Haechan. 

“Hey,” Renjun snickered as the trio stared at Jaemin’s broad back disappearing into the crowd. “Isn’t that the childhood friend who ditched you?”

Jeno scoffed. “Well, if you put it like that….” he grumbled.

Haechan snickered. “No offense, Jeno, but that boy can’t even get the ABC’s in French even after Madame made a whole rock jingle for it. You’re clearly the superior one.”

Jeno giggled. “You’re right.” His ego was flattered for a second because, really, who couldn’t get their ah bay say’s straight? But after Renjun and Haechan separated from him and he headed to math class alone, he couldn’t stop his racing mind. Who had really won? He’d always used his two other friends as consolation that he’d been better off after Jaemin. But Jaemin had a whole group—no, an army—of friends. He’d even struck up conversation with some seniors in French after completely failing to write the French numbers 1–5 on the whiteboard. Jaemin was just better at this, Jeno thought bitterly—whatever this was. He was scowling subconsciously as he entered the math classroom and stood in a corner waiting for the teacher to call out the seating chart.

“What’s up man? Summer end too early?” said a teasing voice next to him. Jeno started, but it was only Park Jisung. The boy was infamously known in middle school for dropping his hot water bottle off the school rooftop in winter, resulting in a scorching red welt on the principal’s bald head in the shape of a, you guessed it, hot-water bottle.

Jeno immediately brightened. “Oh, hey, Poop Hands, he said fondly, ruffling Jisung’s damaged hair.

“That’s not fair,” Jisung spluttered. “Chenle’s just as clumsy as me!”

“Okay, then, you both deserve that title.”

“What were you two uglies saying about me?” Chenle announced his presence, loudly crunching a dry chunk of ramen in his mouth. Jeno wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Want shome?” Chenle offered, holding out a piece of the pitiful ramen. 

“Ugh, Chenle! What is this? I can’t believe you’re still eating it uncooked, you big head!” Jisung exclaimed.

Chenle smiled cheekily. “I’m glad you don’t like it, Big Head 2.”

As Jisung dove for him and Jeno pushed them apart, a painful smile of forbearance on his face, the final bell rang and the math teacher came to the front of the class.

“Hello, everyone! My name is Mr. Kim, first of all, and I’m so happy to see you all here.” He paced in front of the classroom, looking slightly like a hunched-over old bat with his black denim trucker jacket and spectacles. Still, Jeno thought he was kind-looking. His face was serious, but his bow-shaped lips were twisted in amusement as he looked at the class, and his lively eyes sparkled as his eyebrows went up, punctuating his sentences. His long, thin fingers danced across the whiteboard as the lesson began. After class ended, Jeno made his way to the cafeteria, accompanied by Chenle and Jisung. 

“How are we allowed to have math homework on the first day of school?” Chenle groaned.

“It’s math,” Jeno deadpanned.

“That’s easy for you to say, Jeno,” Jisung scoffed. “You’re actually good at math.” 

“I’m really not—” Jeno began, but Chenle cut him off when he spotted Renjun and Haechan heading through the cafeteria doors. He waved at them, but to no avail. They were chatting animatedly. “C’mon, let’s run and catch up with them!” Chenle shouted, and he and Jisung took off.

Jeno sighed, and sped up slightly, falling behind Chenle and Jisung anyway. As he stared at his shoes while weaving through the crowd, he bumped into someone’s chest, hard.

“Oof,” Jeno said reflexively. He looked up. It was Jaemin. Of course it had to be him. Unfairly, he was even more breathtaking up close. The platinum blond hair suited him terribly well, Jeno noted. His white, white teeth glimmered as he gave Jeno an awkward smile and said, “My bad.” Internally, Jeno mocked him. Who did he think he was, giving such a half hearted apology? Five seconds after Jaemin left, Jeno realized with a sinking heart that he’d said nothing—radio silence. As Jeno made his way over to the table his friends had taken over, he beat himself up in his head for being such a loser. He slid down onto the bench, feeling despondent.

“Why the long face?” said Renjun between mouthfuls.

Chenle snorted. “You tell me. I wouldn’t be frowning if I bumped into Na Jaemin and had a juicy staring contest with him.”

Haechan gasped, scandalized. “How’d you know?” Jeno whispered.

“Chenle has spies everywhere,” Jisung said casually as he took a bite out of his kimbap, as if that answered the question.

Jeno shook his head in disbelief.

“Anyway, he stood there awkwardly,” Chenle added.

“I didn’t know what to say,” Jeno replied, exasperated. “I mean, I haven’t seen the guy for years and now he’s everywhere. I even walked into him.”

“That’s a pretty severe case of obsession, man,” Jisung intoned. Jeno smiled despite himself, eyes crinkling into two little crescent moons.

“I’ll try harder next time,” Jeno said sarcastically, and Chenle cackled.

Jeno almost forgot he had English with Jaemin until he walked in and saw people gathered around someone’s desk. At the center was a certain blonde, his feet propped up on the desk of the kid next to him, who Jeno recognized as the senior in the cafeteria that morning. He had his head thrown back as he laughed in a high-pitched, somewhat funny way. Jeno felt like laughing while he watched. He was cute, too--just Jeno’s ideal type. Tiny, with an adorable babylike smile and big, doelike brown eyes. He seemed to be struggling in the hair department, though, as a blond extension seemed almost about to slip off a strand of his natural brown strands, the clip askew. He wore baggy clothes, which only emphasized his smolness, and multiple bracelets and chains circled his neck and wrists. Jeno could only sit back and admire, but not touch. Mark Lee, his name was—as Jeno found out—was untouchable, both physically and figuratively. He was incredibly uncool by high school standards, a glaring reality. Despite this, people were drawn to his painfully sincere, bright personality, and he was always being cuddled to death to someone in the hallway. Still, Mark hated skinship and always threw off people who tried to initiate it with shocking strength for such a miniscule high schooler. He was just so pretty—and Jeno didn’t realize the extent to which he was affected by Mark Lee’s existence until he was caught staring at him in class by none other than Na Jaemin himself.

As usual, Mr. Suh was going off on a tangent about Macbeth. Jeno was blatantly soaking up little details about Mark Lee he’d never noticed before, such as, now, how his light feathery lashes which fluttered against his cheeks as he pushed his pen into the piece of paper on his desk and bit his lip in concentration. If only Lee Jeno knew that Mark was drawing a dick on the paper to pass to Jaemin, who sat in front of him, he wouldn’t have been so enamored. Or maybe he would have. Lee Jeno was pretty fucking in love. As he appreciated the cute pout on Mark’s face, Jeno felt like he was being watched. He brought his eyes back into focus and realized Na Jaemin had been looking at him, probably for a while judging by the concerned look in his eyes. Something curled in his stomach. Jeno cleared his throat almost inaudibly and snapped his eyes away. Great, now Jaemin thought he was a mental case for how intently he’d been watching Mark. Jeno didn’t blame his suspicions. Mark-watching should be a national sport—no, international. Jeno dared to look back up and Jaemin was still staring back, his brows furrowed in confusion. His big head was covering Mark’s form, any hopes of ogling him gone. Jeno resisted the urge to glare at Na Jaemin. What was his deal? Couldn’t he just keep his own eyes to himself and mind his own business? Maybe he was overprotective of Mark because they were such close friends, Jeno mused. Or—wait, was Mark already taken and Na Jaemin was trying to warn him so he wouldn’t get hurt? It had never occurred to Jeno. Oh my gosh, what if Mark was straight? Jeno sat up in his seat, warranting a few strange stares from people around him. He had to find out before the crush he was nursing on Mark Lee ballooned out of control. But he’d never even talked to the boy, and Jeno knew they would never be in a situation together outside of school in which he could question Mark about his sexuality. Maybe he could ask Jaemin—no, that wasn’t even an option. They definitely weren’t on friendly terms, especially not after this morning when Jaemin misspelled ‘au revoir’ on the whiteboard and turned around to catch Jeno struggling to hide his laugh. It hadn’t been a cute look. 

Jeno couldn’t believe he didn’t think of it before, but he could just ask Chenle. The boy knew everyone, and his outrageously loud presence and bravado caused people to open up to him. If Chenle didn’t know Mark’s sexual orientation, he’d probably consider it a personal shortcoming and promise Jeno to find out—he hated losing, after all. So after class, Jeno texted Chenle to meet him on the rooftop after school. On the way there, Jeno grabbed peach soda out of the vending machine, one for him and one for Chenle in exchange for the precious information. He went onto the rooftop and waited. The view from the rooftop was nothing short of beautiful, even if it wasn’t much to brag about. You could see the whole prefecture, squat buildings sprawled out in every direction. Dilapidated telephone poles poked out, piercing the cloudy late-afternoon sky, and Jeno leaned against the railing, his hair flaring up in the breeze. 

“Lee Jeno,” someone called from behind him. He turned around.

It was Na Jaemin, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stood stiffly, eyes searching the ground. Jeno was so surprised he dropped the peach soda cans. They rolled away from him swiftly, one coming to a stop at Jaemin’s feet. He scuffed it slightly with the toe of his sneakers and bent over, picking it up and holding it out to Jeno.

Jeno stood staring at him, not exactly sure this was real. Maybe it was an illusion, just like everything else was on this rooftop. Even time seemed to pass slowly, flowing languidly like honey. So Na Jaemin could be a figment of his imagination.

But when he didn’t evaporate from his view, Jeno realized this was actually happening and came forward, taking the soda from him without a word. 

Jaemin extricated his hands from his pockets and sighed restlessly. Jeno still wasn’t sure what to say, so he looked past Jaemin’s stupidly handsome face at the water tower shimmering in the distance.

“I didn’t want to do this but,” Jaemin breathed out finally. Jeno could feel him looking at his face, but refused to level his gaze. “I’m sorry, it’s not gonna happen.” he said quickly.

Of all the things Jaemin could’ve said, Jeno would never have predicted this. He was genuinely confused.

“What’s….not gonna happen?” he said slowly, not quite following.

“Me and….you. Us.” Jaemin said in a low voice, like he was in excruciating pain.

Jeno quirked an eyebrow.

“I don’t have the same feelings for you, Lee Jeno,” he said, bowing his head.

“Uhhh….” Jeno fumbled, at a loss for words. “I don’t have feelings for you?” he said, scratching the back of his head. Oh God, this was unbearably awkward. What did he do in his past life to deserve this not-rooftop confession?

Jaemin looked up sharply, meeting Jeno’s eyes. In the evening warmth, his eyes looked innocent, almost childlike. “What do you mean. Do you not like me?”

Jeno bit back a laugh. So that was what this was about? And how could he say that so confidently? God, Na Jaemin was arrogant. It seemed he was so used to getting whatever—and whomever—he wanted, and having people fawning over him, that he couldn’t fathom someone not being interested in him.

“No?” Jeno repeated, watching as Jaemin’s expression morphed into one of disbelief.

“Then-then-why do you keep staring at me in English?” Jaemin demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Jeno. “Are you obsessed with me or something?” he added.

Jeno was going to have an aneurysm. A breathy laugh escaped from his mouth. He couldn’t believe in the few years he hadn’t seen him, Jaemin had become a full-fledged narcissist. 

“Let’s be clear, I’m not looking at you,” Jeno pointed out, and Jaemin’s expression became unreadable for a second before it smoothed out. 

“Oh,” he said stupidly, blinking at Jeno. “Then who are you looking at?”

Na Jaemin couldn’t get more ridiculous. He couldn’t, and yet he did. All thoughts of Jaemin triumphing over him in high school were dispelled, and he saw Jaemin as what he was—a self-absorbed, delusional nutcase. In the first place, Jaemin had overstepped his boundaries, and Jeno didn’t care anymore if he knew, because it wasn’t the foolish princelike boy he liked, it was Mark.

“Your friend Mark,” Jeno said in a hushed voice, as if he was telling him a secret. Jaemin’s eyes widened and his fingers clenched by his sides. Jeno smirked, brushing past him and leaving him alone on the rooftop.

Jaemin stood stock still on the rooftop for a few minutes, clenching the metal railing. He sighed and hung his head. A can of peach soda was lying on the ground, and he picked it up and cracked it open, throwing his head back and taking a sip. Jaemin liked sweet things. Jaemin liked—Jeno. He wiped a corner of his mouth with his jacket sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I made Chenji so scary but they do be frightening me sometimes >.<
> 
> Also Mark religion amirite


	3. high expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned into a monster of a chapter so I split it, next part will be up in a few days!!
> 
> I skipped over the Romeo and Juliet scene a lot because googling it was annoying and I don't like Shakespeare, but this was exactly my final project in English freshman year

Before Jeno knew it, the idealistic days of summer had flown past, and the high school campus began taking on the luster of autumn. Whatever had happened between him and Na Jaemin on the rooftop, he brushed off as it didn’t fit with his cool narrative of Jaemin until now—and he assumed the other would do the same. Despite these hopes, Jaemin stared at Jeno even more persistently in English class whenever he chanced a look in Mark’s direction. Jeno was satisfied. It seemed like he’d broken Na Jaemin’s ego, for now at least.

With the onset of autumn came a bustle of school activities. Class elections were tradition, even though there were only three candidates this year—Na Jaemin, with his perfect resume, and his academic rival, Jungwoo, who was a question mark but somehow scored high enough to challenge Jaemin’s reputation. And, lastly, there was always some socially awkward straggler who worked up their bravery enough to join the race and lost without regrets, satisfied that they did something daring once in their high school career. Renjun, to everyone’s surprise, had decided to run for class president. Upon questioning, he announced gruffly, “My older brother won all four years so my mom forced me to apply.” Jisung and Chenle got over the initial shock and dissolved in a pile of giggles.

“You….run for class president?” Jisung gasped, laughing shakily. Chenle wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye. Haechan met Jeno’s eyes and glanced pointedly at Renjun, whose stiff shoulders had jumped up to his ears and was blinking furiously. Jeno felt a pang of sympathy.

“Hey, hey, cut it out, guys,” he interrupted Chenji’s hysterics. He ran his fingers through Renjun’s long hair, earning him a glare from said person. “If Renjun says he wants to run for class president, we’re gonna support him every way we know how.”

“Exactly.” Haechan squeezed Renjun’s ear, tugging on his little hoop earring. “We’re gonna get the word out and prove your mom wrong.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Renjun sighed. “I’m only running so my mom can say I tried, I-I know I’m not gonna beat Na Jaemin or Kim Jungwoo. Those guys are in a whole different league.” He huffed out a laugh. “I’d probably be voting for them too if I wasn’t in this mess.”

Jeno furrowed his eyebrows and looked at him. “Come on, give yourself a little more credit, Renjun,” he said softly. “You’re different from your brother. He won class president.”

“—Four times.” Renjun interrupted.

“So what? You’re president of the art club just in your freshman year! Who knows what you’re gonna accomplish next year? If you keep going like this, you’re gonna be way better than your brother.”

Renjun stopped picking at a stray thread on his pants and looked up at them. “I know that, it’s just….hard to convince myself sometimes,” he mumbled. “When I look at the top kids in the class, and when my mom’s constantly comparing me to my brother.”

“Don’t worry about them, Renjun,” Haechan said comfortingly. “They’re all under pressure too from somewhere, or else they wouldn’t be doing so well.”

“Except Kim Jungwoo,” Chenle offered. “He’s just along for the ride.” Everyone laughed.

“Renjun.” Jeno squeezed his hand. “Even if you don’t win, it’s okay. Being class president is lame anyway! You always have to obey the teacher, and no one likes a teacher’s pet.”

As usual, Jeno didn’t realize he was talking loudly. Just his luck, Jaemin happened to pass by their table at that moment, his cronies in tow. It wasn’t a question of whether he had heard anymore, but how much he had heard. Oh, this was bad. This disrupted the delicate balance of oblivion that existed in their relationship. Jeno looked up at Jaemin, cowering a little. He didn’t want Jaemin to know that he acknowledged his presence. He wanted nothing to do with him.

Jaemin was staring at him—no, he wasn’t; he was staring at Jeno’s and Renjun’s interlocked hands. In a millisecond, as if his attention had never been diverted, his eyelashes fluttered and his gaze flicked away. Jeno withdrew his hand and chuckled awkwardly. He stared at Jaemin’s receding back.

“Looks like you pissed off pretty boy,” Haechan muttered.  
“I don’t care about him,” Jeno groaned. “Mark wasn’t there, was he?” He shot up, searching for Mark’s varsity jacket in the crowd of people leaving the cafeteria. “I hope he doesn’t think I hate him since, y’know, his best friend’s running for class president….”

Renjun scoffed. “You’re two-faced.”

Suddenly, Mark’s striped head emerged from the hubbub of people. Jeno craned his neck, hoping to get a peek at him. Just then, the worst—and best—possible thing happened. Yes, Mark locked eyes with Jeno. Jeno felt his stomach take a swooping dive as he lost all perception of time. It could’ve been hours, but it was probably two seconds. Mark looked a little taken aback by Jeno, who was almost falling out of his seat. However, he quickly recovered, and gave him a small smile, lips pursed like tiny flower petals. Jeno immediately felt his face heat up, and was about to back out from shyness when he steeled himself. You’ve been pining after him for months, he coached himself. This might be your only chance for him to see you. He smiled back, even though his face felt frozen. The moment passed. Jeno sat back down, and his head instantly filled with regret. He’d probably looked scary. The smile felt grotesquely unnatural even to him—imagine what Mark Lee had seen. Jeno wanted to fall off the face of the earth and run through a field of flowers at the same time.

Just then, he realized that there were other people present. Renjun and Haechan sat transfixed to their seats, staring at him with disgust. Haechan slowly smiled at him in a creepy way, tilting his head and imitating Jeno. Jeno threw his milk box at him. “Shut up,” he fumed.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Haechan said in disbelief. 

For the next few days after Jeno’s little exchange with Mark, nothing happened between them until Mr. Suh assigned an English project. Ah, that English project with randomly assigned partners—Jeno would have to thank Mr. Suh for it surreptitiously. They had to film a scene from Romeo and Juliet, and Jeno’s group got the scene when Romeo found Juliet supposedly dead. He had mixed feelings about his groupmates—Jaemin was there, like a plague, but so was Mark. 

And, wow, Jeno had never been this close to his crush before. That brief smile across the cafeteria didn’t count. Right now, Mark was standing next to him reading off the script Jeno held in his cold, sweaty hands. His slim, short fingers thumbed at a corner of the paper. Jeno gulped as he noticed his carefully applied black nail polish. Mark could probably hear him swallow, could probably feel the pattering of Jeno’s heart as he struggled to keep it together. What got him the most was the fact that even though Mark was wearing platform sneakers, Jeno still towered over him. It occurred to him that if Mark hugged him, his face would fit into the crook of his neck. He tried not to think about that.

Jaemin stood outside the circle congregated around Jeno, quieter than usual. He only spoke once, when Mark asked if everyone was okay with their roles. Even then, he looked dazed, like he hadn’t been paying attention. Of course, Jeno thought bitterly, pretty boy Jaemin had others do all the work for him. Whatever. At least Jeno was satisfied with his role. He got to be Juliet, while Mark was appointed Romeo, and that’s all that mattered. The only girl in their group practically hissed at Mark when he asked if she wanted to play the part of Juliet, so they had to improvise. Jeno thought the role was more fitting for Mark, he was so pretty, but at least he still got to kiss him—even if it was through a piece of paper.

They met up after school to film the scene as the hallways emptied out. Jeno didn’t have anything that remotely resembled Elizabethan era fashion, so he made do with a purple satin dress he’d ordered online but never worn. It had stayed in the back of his closet in its plastic wrapping until now, when Jeno stuffed it into his backpack. As he pulled it out in the back of the theater, he took care not to crush the tulle skirt or bend the stiff lace-up bodice. He fumbled with the laces on the back of the dress as he pulled it on. After a few minutes of struggling, he realized he couldn’t do it alone.

With one hand, he unlocked the door and it swung open. Mark stood in front of him, tugging on the collar of his poofy white shirt. Jeno’s breath slightly caught in his throat as he noticed the rings on his fingers. He cleared his throat to get Mark’s attention.

“Um….could you help me lace this up?” Jeno said, scratching the back of his neck.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, sure,” he said amiably. “Turn around, I got you.”

Jeno blushed, but turned around and held out the strings to Mark. He tried not to focus on the way Mark was tightening the strings, his fingers occasionally brushing against Jeno’s exposed back. He held his breath to make it easier for Mark to lace him up.

Suddenly, the dressing room door flew open, revealing Na Jaemin in his County Paris costume. Jeno jumped a little as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. The sexual? tension in the air vanished as quickly as it had come. He turned his head to glare at Jaemin for interrupting his moment. For once, Na Jaemin didn’t look like his usual flower boy self. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. His eyes swam in the overhead stage lights, and Jeno wasn’t sure, but it seemed like he was staring at Jeno. His eyes slid up and down the dress, taking in Jeno’s soft, dark lashes curled with a mascara wand. His eyes finally came to a stop at Mark’s hands knotting the laces in the bodice. 

“What’s up, man?” Mark said. “You need help to button up your shirt or something?” he joked. Jeno blushed, embarrassed.

“Nah,” Jaemin said in a weird voice. “I think I’m gonna go check up on the friar,” he said, gesturing toward the girl who was currently struggling with the brown robes. His eyes slid over Jeno’s face a last time as he turned around, narrowly missing tripping over a stage prop.

What was that?

Jeno lay on top of a cafeteria table had his hands folded over his chest gravely. To anyone else, he looked serene, but his heart was pounded wildly. All he could think about was Mark, Mark, Mark as the boy leaned over him. He felt his shadow over his face, blocking the glaring cafeteria lights. It was so unfair that Jeno couldn’t even look at Mark Lee as he kissed him, even if it was only a peck. His breath stuttered as he felt the cold, smooth surface of the paper brush his lips and the pressure of Mark’s light peck. Then his weight as Mark collapsed beside him, his hand bumping into Jeno’s arm.

Someone’s phone camera zoomed into Jeno’s face as his eyelids fluttered and slowly cracked open. He sat up, disoriented from his enchanted sleep and stared at Mark’s still form beside him.

“Okay, CUT!” said the person filming.

Jeno exhaled loudly as the scene ended, brushing back his hair. Mark sat up. Jeno didn’t know what to say, so he just looked down and played with the tulle ruffles on his dress. Luckily, he didn’t have to sit awkwardly for long, because Mark climbed off the table and went to go to talk to his friends in another group. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. You’d think after he kissed him, Mark could say something to him—anything, even a word. Jeno looked down at his hands, pouting. He felt pretty in this dress, and it wasn’t like him to fish for compliments, but a compliment from Mark would make his day. Would it kill him to talk to him?

Their scene finished, and Jeno went backstage to change along with the rest of his group members. On the way to the dressing room, he met Na Jaemin in the hallway. His character had died a long time ago, so he’d already changed into a hoodie and jeans, his balled-up costume clutched in his hands. Jeno eyed him for a second then looked away, feigning interest in the show posters lining the walls. He sensed Jaemin stop beside him, and halted in confusion.

In the narrow hallway, Jaemin was far too close. He looked down at Jeno, shadows obscuring his face because of the dim lighting. Jeno was once again reminded of why they called him flower boy, and also, were his eyelashes always that long? He looked even better close up, definitely God’s favorite. Jeno stared at him, puzzled but undaunted.

“Um….that dress looks good on you,” Jaemin said finally.

Whoa. So someone did notice.

“Uh, thanks,” Jeno said, smiling shyly. He hadn’t been expecting anyone to say that, so he might’ve sounded a little too pleased. But he didn’t care. For this moment, he’d let his guard down. Jaemin looked at him as he smiled, a little dazed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make a music playlist for this but for now, I've been listening to wayv's comeback and nct u while writing this. stream awaken the world!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! hit me up on twitter @ruhmbunctious if you want to talk or just rant about NCT, I'm new to the fandom 💚


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